


What Do I Know of Love?

by Rinielle



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Stardust AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:59:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinielle/pseuds/Rinielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire blinks, having almost entirely forgotten the reason for their trek across the countryside. 60 miles. He should be excited, he knows he should, being so close to home, but it is disappointment he feels coiling in his chest.</p><p>With a shake of his head to clear his thoughts he says “Two days, maybe,”</p><p>“But we don’t have two days,” says Enjolras with a frown, “Victoria’s birthday is tomorrow,”</p><p>Grantaire stops in his tracks, thinking hard. Surely Enjolras must be wrong, there’s no way that he could possibly have forgotten… but he isn't. Wrong that is. </p><p>---</p><p>Or: The Stardust AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Do I Know of Love?

“You know you sometimes sort of… glitter,”

They’ve been walking in total silence for almost an hour now. Grantaire hasn’t really known what to say, and Enjolras too has been uncharacteristically silent since leaving Captain Hugo and his crew behind them. In fact, aside from that brief moment in the bushes, he hasn’t said a word.

Grantaire wonders if maybe he’s mad at him for practically jumping him, pushing him through prickly wild bushes and pinning him on the ground, but he’s not usually one to keep his irritations to himself, and he hadn’t seemed that annoyed at the time. Surely he had understood that Grantaire was simply trying to protect him? But then why had he started asking stupid questions about Grantaire wanting to cut his heart out… had he thought… he couldn’t have believed Grantaire would ever hurt him, could he? He chances a quick glance at his travelling companion. He looks perfectly serene, not at all on edge or suspicious as he had been when they first met; as he had every right to. But then why had he asked?

_“Aren’t you tempted?” he had said quietly, gazing up through bright blue eyes and long golden lashes, causing Grantaire to blush and stutter._

_“W..what?”_

_“Immortality,” Enjolras clarified, “I mean, say it wasn’t my heart, say it was just someone you didn’t know, a star you’d never met before, wouldn’t you...”_

_“You… you honestly think I could kill someone?” Grantaire had stammered out and Enjolras had relaxed beneath him, letting out a short and breathy laugh._

_“No,” he said, turning his face away, “I suppose not,”_

_Grantaire had stared down at him, swallowing hard, “Besides, I mean it sounds sort of boring,” he said, shifting his weight ever so slightly so as not to be a burden, “I mean, everlasting life… I imagine you’d run out of things to do or see and… and wouldn’t you get lonely? If all your family, friends… the people you loved died and you didn’t? Well maybe it wouldn’t be so bad… if… if you had someone to share it with,” At some point Enjolras had turned his gaze back on him and he had blushed again, voice trailing into barely a whisper. He coughed, and noting that the sound of hooves had long since passed he pushed himself to his feet, offering a hand to help Enjolras up too._

_They hadn’t spoken since._

Strangely enough the silence hasn’t been entirely uncomfortable. Somewhere between kidnap, escape, attempted murder, another escape and falling into the hands of sky-pirates who actually weren’t nearly as bad as they first appeared to be, they seem to have settled into a sort of comfortable acceptance of each other’s presence. Something that sounds like Hugo’s voice niggles at the back of Grantaire’s mind, reminding him that for him at least, it’s more than acceptance, and he tries to shove it away by asking stupid questions; breaking through the silence.

“You know you sometimes sort of… glitter?”

“Really?” is the faux incredulous response from Enjolras, who fixes him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, “Perhaps you can figure out why that is… What do stars do?”

“Attract trouble?”

Enjolras laughs, and Grantaire decidedly does not compare it to bells or chimes or any kind of music in his head... He doesn’t!

He’s doing it again. The glowing thing. He used to think that the way the sunlight bounced off Victoria’s white dress and golden curls made her the most beautiful thing in the world, that nothing could be brighter. But light does not simply bounce off Enjolras, it emanates from him. Pours out and wraps itself around him, completely separate from anything the world around him is doing. It can be the darkest night, or the middle of a storm, and still it can appear. Whatever it is, it’s a part of him. He’s more than beautiful, beauty is nothing… he is radiant.

“Alright,” he returns, “Do they, know exactly how to annoy boys called ‘Aire?”

“If you’re not going to be serious…” but there’s no real warning or irritation in his tone. Grantaire might even call it fond, if he were the sort to allow himself that kind of hope. As it is, he is not, and can only assume that Enjolras is simply making an effort not to sound too annoyed and start an argument.

“When am I ever serious?” he asks, and when after several seconds he receives no reply he turns to find the smile on Enjolras’ face is gone, the glow around him has dimmed with it, and he is staring directly ahead, looking entirely _too_ serious, even sad. “Well,” Grantaire continues with a light cough, “I’ll think on it anyway, and get back to you when I know the answer,”

“You’ll have to think fast,” Enjolras points in the direction he has been looking, where a large stone mile marker is raised out of the ground with ‘The Wall, 60 miles,’ carved into it, “How long will that take?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire blinks, having almost entirely forgotten the reason for their trek across the countryside. 60 miles. Once it might have seemed some great distance, the sort of journey that sparked adventures… in reality he’d had to travel much much further to find his own adventure. 60 miles hardly seemed anything in comparison. He should be excited, he knows he should, being so close to home, but it is disappointment he feels coiling in his chest; though he has no desire to examine why that is.

With a shake of his head to clear his thoughts he says “Two days, maybe,”

“But we don’t have two days,” says Enjolras with a frown, “Victoria’s birthday is tomorrow,”

Grantaire stops in his tracks, thinking hard. Surely Enjolras must be wrong, there’s no way that he could possibly have forgotten… but he isn’t. Wrong that is. Grantaire counts back the days on the ship, plus of course the time leading up to the witches attack… 6 days exactly… Victoria’s birthday is indeed the very next day, and he didn’t remember, hasn’t even thought about it in at least two or three of those days.

“Right…” he says absently, staring pointedly at the sign, refusing to turn his gaze on Enjolras, “Well remembered. Guess we’d better get moving then,”

As they start to walk again the silence becomes awkward for the first time in days, and when an old caravan comes trundling into view Grantaire breathes a sigh of relief, not at the prospect of transport to get him to Wall on time, but because perhaps if they can barter passage he can pretend to be asleep and not have to face up to the problem that has been gnawing at him for the last few hours since leaving the ship. If he’s honest with himself since well before that. He shakes his head again and marches forward, holding up a hand to hail the driver of the caravan, a squat, toadlike woman who glares at him. Not the most desirable of travelling partners, but Grantaire isn’t of a mind to be picky.

“Excuse me!” he calls, stepping out into the road and forcing her to pull her pony to a stop. “Sorry, excuse me, are you heading to Wall by any chance?”

“Aye,” she calls back, and behind her a little bluebird suddenly begins chirping loudly. She waves an angry hand at it and it goes silent, “And what business is it of yours?”

Before Grantaire can get a word out though she gapes at him and practically flies off her seat, “That’s my flower!” she yells, red hair flying around her “Give it to me now!”, and as he draws his sword in alarm he gapes down at the little white snowdrop fastened to his coat, the one his father had told him was given to him by his mother. Seeing the sword seems to calm the woman’s rage, and she stops short, eyeing it warily.

“How dare you!” says Enjolras, who has caught up and is standing at his shoulder, glaring at the woman as if daring her to take another step; as if he were the one holding the sword and fully prepared to use it. “That was a gift from his mother!”

The woman doesn’t look at him, but she takes a step backwards, eyes still fixed firmly on the blade and murmuring “Perhaps I was mistaken, my apologies young sir,”

Confused but still determined to secure transport Grantaire slowly sheathes the sword, and tugs the little flower from its place. “That’s okay,” he says, “Obviously it’s of great value so you may have it in exchange for what I want, a Babylon Candle,”

“And safe passage to the Wall, we have to get there by…”

“A Babylon Candle?” the woman asks, apparently affronted, and ignoring Enjolras entirely, “Oh no. I don’t deal in black magic,”

“Oh…” Grantaire suspects that isn’t entirely true, but it had been a long shot anyway if they are as rare as everyone seems to say they are, “Well, could you give us a lift then?” The woman smiles, showing off brown and broken teeth, and Grantaire tries hard not to wince, whoever said that a smile can make anyone beautiful had obviously never met this woman.

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” she asks, and from the corner of his eye Grantaire sees Enjolras stiffen and his fists curl at his side, he bites back a smile of his own. Apparently Enjolras isn’t used to being ignored; though that is understandable. “For that flower I can offer you passage,” continues the woman.

“Safe passage?”

“I swear,” she holds up a hand, “You will arrive at the wall in the exact same condition as you’re in now,”

Grantaire pauses a moment. On the one hand, he’s not entirely sure that he trusts such a woman to keep her word, but on the other… on the other he really needs to get to Wall because… because… and there’s that niggling voice again at the back of his mind. _Because you’re a coward, because you’re afraid to love him, because you know he’ll never feel the same, because going back is the safe option_. He hands over the flower, and the woman practically tears it from his hand, drawing it to herself and letting out a relieved sigh. She smiles again, and narrows her eyes at him, and this smile is even more repulsive than the last.

“Do you have any idea what manner of thing you had?”

In all honesty he has no idea, “Some sort of lucky charm?” he guesses and hears Enjolras tut behind him.

“Oh a very luck charm,” sneers the woman, “Protection. The very thing that would have prevented me from doing this,” she points a finger at him, and the next thing he knows she, and Enjolras and all the world around him is suddenly growing at a rapid pace, until his eyes are level with her shoes, and as he tries to call out all that comes from him is a high pitched squeak. Above him, Enjolras has thrown himself at the woman in outrage, shouting obscenities Grantaire wasn’t aware he even knew, but he simply seems to bounce off her as she bends to pick him up.

“Oh don’t worry, I’ll keep my word, you won’t be harmed” she says, carrying him into back of the caravan, and her voice booms to his tiny ears, “Food and lodging, as I promised,” she adds as she tucks him into a cage, closing the little barred door on him as Enjolras appears at her shoulder. He utters a few more choice remarks, but she does not seem to hear him.

“Would I be correct in assuming that you cannot see or hear me?” Enjolras says suddenly, and certainly that would explain a lot, the woman does not respond, which seems to settle the matter.

“Well, in that case, I warn you,” threatens Enjolras, eyes blazing with fury as she moves to leave the caravan, “If I do not get my ‘Aire back exactly as he was, I am going to be your personal poltergeist for the rest of your natural life!”

Grantaire would smile, if it were possible, to hear the threat. He can well imagine the sort of trouble an invisible Enjolras could cause this woman, and having apparently been turned into a mouse Grantaire is all for it. It takes a moment for the full meaning of Enjolras words to catch up and as they do he freezes on the spot. Heart thundering at hundreds of beats per minute, though that might have something to do with the transformation… did he hear that right? Did Enjolras refer to him as his?

He cannot think about it too long, the caravan jerks to life throwing him to one side of his sparse little cage, and Enjolras thuds down to sit on a chest of clothes beside him looking thoroughly put out. He glances into the cage as Grantaire scrambles up onto four paws again, and he seems to fight an internal battle with himself before sighing.

“Grantaire,” he looks imploringly into the cage, “If… if you can understand me… give me some sort of sign,”

Having no idea what sort of a sign he’s supposed to be able to give Grantaire panics, turning his furry head away, his gaze lands on a block of cheese on the table, and before he can do something to rectify this error Enjolras has already followed his eyes and sighed again. He reaches forwards to grab the cheese, pulling a tiny piece off and offering it through the bars.

With no real options left to him, and suddenly realising that he is, actually, quite hungry, Grantaire scurries forwards to accept it. Enjolras sits back as he nibbles at it; it’s not particularly nice. He adds it to the list of multiple offenses done to him by the witch, to be dealt with as soon as he’s back in his real body. Still, he’s almost halfway through it when Enjolras starts talking again.

“You know…” he groans, “I’m talking to a mouse,” he says to himself, rubbing a hand over his eyes, “And to think, I believed that my life couldn’t spiral any more into the ridiculous than it already had. You know since I’ve met you things have been completely insane.” He eyes Grantaire, who continues to eat his cheese, because what else is he supposed to do to respond to that, he knows that he’s responsible for a great number of things going wrong for Enjolras.

“I never thought… Do you remember how I told you I know very little about love?” he continues, “Well that wasn’t exactly true. I know a lot about love. I’ve seen it. Centuries and centuries of it. I saw a lot of things you know, up there, you can’t imagine how much. So many terrible things, poverty, pain, lies, war… but always, always before it, during it and after it, to see the way mankind could love. It made it bearable. You could search the galaxies, the universes and the heavens and never find anything more beautiful. And it made me believe, truly believe that humans had it in them to be better… that they will be better and all because they can love, because they can’t help but love and one day that’s going to win over all the hatred and greed. So… yes, I know about love. And I know that it is unconditional. But I also know that it can be unpredictable, unexpected, uncontrollable, unbearable and… and strangely easy to mistake for loathing. And… I think. What I’m trying to say is… I think I love you. I know I love you. I can barely breathe around you, my heart feels like my chest can barely contain it… like it’s trying to escape, as though it doesn’t even belong to me anymore, it belongs to you and if you wanted it, I wouldn’t ask for any demonstration of devotion. No gift except the knowledge that you return my feelings. Just, your heart, in exchange for mine…” he trails off, and Grantaire can do nothing but stare up at him, trying to think of a way to communicate, desperately wracking his brain but finding it muddled with mouse like thoughts like wanting to chew the side of the cage. He wiggles his nose, trying to focus, Enjolras has just told him that he loves him, that _he_ loves _him_. Despite everything, despite Grantaire being the last man on earth deserving of the love of someone so wonderful, so passionate and beautiful. Enjolras loves him, and Grantaire is a mouse. That cheese wasn’t actually that bad, maybe he should have more? No, damn it! For heaven’s sake, of all the things for Enjolras’ fearlessness to fail him on! He had to be too nervous to confess these feelings to human Grantaire, so he waits for a moment when Grantaire cannot even tell him he loves him too, that he has been slowly but surely falling for him from the moment they met. Maybe he could scratch a message into something? Maybe he should go roll in that sawdust. By the time he’s fought off that urge, Enjolras has given up and gone to lie on the little cot to the side of the caravan, his back turned on Grantaire who can do nothing but watch him.

He doesn’t speak to him again. Perhaps he’s embarrassed, perhaps he really believes Grantaire doesn’t understand what he’s saying. Either way the journey takes forever and all Grantaire can do is roll the words over and over in his mind. Moving from joy to terror in the space of every second. What does this even mean for him? He cannot go back to Victoria now, cannot present her with her star, because Enjolras is not hers, or his to give away, or anyone’s at all. Whatever feelings Grantaire thought he had for Victoria, they were never anything like what he feels for Enjolras, a childish crush, and an unrequited one at that. His mind is clear enough now that he can see he was being manipulated, and he half hates himself for it, half hates her… but he can’t completely, because without all that, he would never have made it here. Would never have had this adventure, would never have learnt his own worth, would never have discovered true love. What of that though? Enjolras returns his feelings, he knows that, but there’s still a witch on their trail, determined to cut out Enjolras’ heart for eternal youth. The thought makes him sick. Perhaps they could leave Stormhold? Would the witch cross the wall? What if she did, she could cause devastation. They could continue on the run, he supposes, but how long would they last? Days at most probably. They could make a stand… more than likely they’d be killed but at least they could try.

His thoughts cut short as the caravan grinds to a halt, and Enjolras jerks up as the doors fly open and the witch enters. A few seconds later he’s outside and on the ground and the whole world starts spinning and as he regains his height for a moment he wonders if the whole thing was a dream and they’re still standing back out on the road. He goes for his sword again and immediately falls down. From where he is on the ground he hears a laugh, the woman says “I warned you, save your strength,” and then someone turns him over gently. The world is a blur, and he just catches a glint of golden curls… who does he know with golden curls?

“Victoria?” he asks.

He just has time to make out a decidedly male voice saying “I think I preferred mother,” before the whole world goes black.

The next thing he’s aware of is that he’s far more comfortable. Apparently cobblestones have been swapped out for a mattress, and a fire is blazing somewhere because he can feel the warmth and hear the crackling. As he opens his eyes memories start flooding back, being turned into a mouse, put in a cage, Enjolras talking to him, being turned back… Enjolras… he sits bolt upright as he remembers, looking frantically around him. He’s in a comfortable and well lit room, his coat is hanging on the back of a chair, and Enjolras’ clothes are folded neatly on the chair itself, but there’s no sign of the man himself. Off to one side of the room is a large metal screen, and beyond it he hears water shifting. He grins to himself, picking himself up off the bed and wondering over, opening a little window in the screen and peering through. Sure enough, reclined in a metal tub, eyes closed is Enjolras.

“Excuse me sir?” he says, and though it’s gentle, Enjolras jumps as though he had screamed at him and water slops over the side of the bath, “I think you’re in my bath,” he laughs as Enjolras makes a move to cover himself. Not necessary as the bath is angled so that Grantaire can see nothing below his shoulders; it’s adorable nevertheless.

“Close your eyes!” he barks, cheeks red and Grantaire smiles and turns away.

“Okay, I apologise,” he laughs again, “I didn’t see anything I swear, here I’ve turned away.” Behind him he can hear the sound of Enjolras leaving the bath tub, and his feet padding across the wooden floor.

After almost a minute he finally says “Okay you can look,” and Grantaire turns back, only slightly disappointed to find him with his trousers and undershirt back on, combing his fingers through his hair and pointedly not looking in Grantaire’s direction. It’s all Grantaire can do not to cross the room immediately to wrap his arms around his waist, to draw him close, the room is comfortable and warm and romantic, but he was just a mouse, and Enjolras isn’t looking at him and he has to be sure.

“Did you really mean what you said in the caravan?” he asks, and Enjolras goes stiff and for one horrible moment Grantaire thinks he’s ruined everything, that he has misunderstood something and now Enjolras is going to push him away. Then Enjolras is looking at him, and the blush has spread once more across his face, his eyes are wide and startled and he is stammering. Stammering!

“But… but… Y-you were a mouse!” he exclaims and Grantaire’s heart soars with relief, and adoration, and love, “You were a mouse,” Enjolras says again and Grantaire laughs, “You wanted cheese!” and he’s the most adorable thing Grantaire has ever seen. It’s hard to believe he ever saw him as cold and unfeeling and distant as he buries his head in his hands and mutters “I asked you to give me a sign!”

Grantaire gives in, and crosses the room, running his hands gently over Enjolras shoulders and arms, resting their foreheads together and smiling at him as he moves his hands enough to look at him. “And have you be too afraid to say all those lovely things?” he says, brushing his fingers over Enjolras jaw and moving to press a light kiss to his temple.

“You know, Captain Hugo whispered something to me before we left,” he says, and Enjolras looks up at him curiously, “He said that my true love, was right in front of my eyes. And he was right…” he has barely gotten the sentence out before Enjolras’ hands reach up to grip the back of his neck and draw him down into a searing kiss, which Grantaire, once he’s taken half a moment to be completely certain this is all real, returns with enthusiasm, arms moving to do as they had been longing to and wrapping around Enjolras’ waist, pulling him closer, hands tugging slightly at the loose fabric of Enjolras’ shirt and shifting it upwards to run over bare skin. It’s everything that kissing a star should be. The world seems to fall away, everywhere they connect burns. His eyes are closed, taking in every sensation that comes with even the tiniest of movements, but even now he can tell that Enjolras is glowing again. Brighter than ever, the light pierces through Grantaire's closed eyelids, but it doesn't hurt like it should. It's soft and gentle and calming.

He’s still not completely sure he knows the answer to Enjolras question from earlier – had that really only been a few hours ago? – so much has happened since, and so much is still to be done, and maybe he doesn't know 'what stars do', but come what may, he’s looking forward to finding out.

**Author's Note:**

> Someone asked for exR Stardust AU and I had to... sadly I don't have the time to do the whole thing, maybe one day, but for now have my favourite part of the film done up for our favourite dumb boys.


End file.
